


Secrets Can Kill

by a_taller_tale



Series: RvB Angst War [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Character Death, M/M, RvB Angst War, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grif, I, there’s something—"</p><p>“–You’ve always wanted to say to me. Yeah, yeah. Later, nerd. When we’re all in one piece.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets Can Kill

“I shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed this morning…” Grif groaned.

“You say that every day,” Simmons sniped back, trying to pull Grif so that he could lean his weight on Simmons a little more so they could get back to the rendezvous point. “But fine, today I’ll admit you should have stayed in bed. Now shut up and help me help you.”

It was just a scouting mission for extra supplies outside the city in a remote area, but Grif had slunk off, abandoning his squad to find a place to nap in the brush. 

Luckily, the chip Simmons installed to keep track of Grif back in Blood Gulch still worked. So Simmons abandoned—ahem—trusted his squad to finish up the mission while he went to lecture Grif on responsibility.

He’d reached the clearing just as the pocket of pirates that Grif had stumbled upon opened fire.

Grif went down, but thanks to Sarge’s training Grif was no stranger to being shot and with Simmons’ help they were able to scramble to cover.

Simmons himself caught a bullet in his flesh shoulder but he was pretty sure it hadn’t gone through the armor. Still hurt like a bitch. But he didn’t have time for it.

They weren’t directly under fire anymore, but they hadn’t had time to regroup before Grif had said, “Uh… I think I’m hit.”

“No shit, dumb-ass. I saw you.”

Simmons heard Grif swallow and take a deep breath. “I mean, um, the bullets got through. A few of them.”

Simmons’ mechanical heart was not being very efficient at keeping his blood pressure regulated. “A few?! Why didn’t you say anything??”

“I’m telling you now. Jesus.” Instead of sounding annoyed, Grif’s voice had a little whine to it which meant he was really in pain.

Which brought Simmons to this moment, struggling under Grif’s half-dead weight. “We are putting you on a diet when we get back. And you can’t have my leftover rations anymore.”

“I’m gonna nap, dude,” Grif mumbled, slumping on his shoulder which was really starting to throb, causing them both to stumble.

“Grif? Grif!” Simmons had been hesitant to raise the radio at first when they were still too near hostiles, but they hadn’t heard any gunfire in a few minutes and Grif needed help now. “Jensen, I need pick-up! We’re wounded! Half a mile west from you!” He rattled off the coordinates on his HUD.

The radio blared and Jensen’s voice came through the static. “Already on our way, sir. Coming to your location.”

“Watch out for pirates. Only two or three guys but they have armor piercing rounds and good aim.”

Jensen was quiet for a breath, like she was going to ask more questions, but Simmons was thoroughly distracted. “We’ll be there in five minutes,” she said.

Five minutes. And then twenty minutes back to the city even with Jensen’s driving. But Dr. Grey. She was good. Everything would be fine.

“Grif. Come on, get up.” Simmons knocked on his helmet. He didn’t want to take it off because that was a great way to get shot in the field when there were remaining pirates lurking. And Grif was already shot, and probably wouldn’t appreciate another bullet. Oh god, what if he was dead and Simmons was just sitting here like an idiot knocking on his helmet?

“You suck,” Grif groaned and Simmons almost cried. Well, his eye was wet, but it was definitely the stress.

“Trying to sleep on the job. You’re ridiculous. I should just leave you here.”

“You won’t.” Grif sounded tired but coherent. Good sign. “If you did, Sarge wouldn’t have anyone to pick on and you know he’d start on you. And then you would never win Best Kiss-ass. He’d totally go for Donut or Lopez. You need me.”

“I-I do not need you.” Simmons bit his lip, wishing he could just teleport them or something. And then he was thinking about their worst superpower game. 

Being able to teleport, but not in time to save anyone.

Jensen arrived with their warthog mostly intact within the promised five minutes. Bitters helped him haul Grif into the vehicle.

It was tight in the back. Grif was basically in his lap, which was not comfortable in power armor.

Grif was pretty quiet, but when Simmons felt brave enough or desperate enough to squeeze his hand he squeezed back.

“Grif, I, there’s something—"

“–You’ve always wanted to say to me. Yeah, yeah. Later, nerd. When we’re all in one piece.”

Simmons snorted, thinking of the tank and his metal arm. “We’re never going to be in one piece again thanks to you. You really need to stop with the mortal peril.”

“What can I say, Simmons? I love being poked full of holes and bleeding and being operated on by insane people who like experimenting on soldiers.”

“Yeah, maybe you should talk to someone about that,” Simmons said. He could picture the look on Grif’s face, the wry smile. He really needed to see his friend’s face right now.

Jensen broke the sound barrier and they made it to Grey’s in 12 minutes. They only crashed a little in the vehicle hangar which jarred Simmons’ shoulder. He’d have to have it checked. After Grif was okay. They had limited supplies and limited medical personnel and Grif—

Grif was quiet again by the time they got there and when Grey asked who needed her attention, Simmons said, “I’m fine, I’m fine, just help him.”

He’d get checked out later. They needed to see how bad Grif was. Bitters helped him strip off Grif’s armor so Dr. Grey could examine him, along with her several trainees.

Three bullets had gone through his armor. One shoulder graze. Two in the chest. He needed surgery. The scent of blood was making Simmons dizzy and sick.

The minute his helmet was off Grif locked eyes with Simmons in a way that made Simmons shiver. Grif was scared, he could tell, and he shouldn’t scare him more, but Simmons still couldn’t stop the words that popped out of his mouth. “D-don’t—Don’t die, okay?”

“I won’t,” Grif promised. “Tomorrow’s Taco Tuesday.”

“Idiot.”

That was the last Simmons saw of him until after surgery.

People tried to check on Simmons and he shrugged them off. He read magazines and thought about showering, but he couldn’t move and he was feeling a little light-headed now, but he couldn’t leave to shower or eat or sleep or do anything until Grif was out.

Dr. Grey seemed to be under the impression that they were married or something, an assumption Simmons didn’t correct because he was allowed in the recovery room on wobbly knees before Grif even woke up.

The edges of his vision were blackening and until all he could see was grif-grif-grif and he was alive and Grey said something about being a genius and that the bullets luckily hadn’t gotten anything vital. Grif was still looking unhealthy but he was in a clean gown and clean white bandages and he was going to be okay.

Simmons waited around for him to wake up in a chair by his bedside, still in his armor sans helmet. Sarge and Donut came. Then Tucker and Wash, but they weren’t allowed in the room yet and Simmons didn’t go out to see them. Bitters could handle it.

Simmons didn’t realize he was swaying and then wilting down against the bed. He woke with his cheek squished into Grif’s knee and Grif’s hand in his hair. Not nicely though. He was tugging at it to wake Simmons up.

“You’re awake…” Simmons said weakly, trying to wipe the drool from his face, but his flesh fingers felt numb and he missed. His shoulder didn’t throb so much anymore. So that was good. And Grif was awake. And staring at him.

“You don’t look so hot, dude.”

“Rude. I’m not the one who just got out of…” Simmons made an effort to sit up, but ended up just shifting to face Grif more. He was so tired. “…of surgery.”

Even with the drugs he must be on, Grif’s eyes widened. “Uh… you look like you’re gonna pass out. Are you gonna pass out?”

“Grif… Shit. You don’t have to yell. You almost died, but you’re alive now. It’s...it's good.”

Grif did not seem to be able to grasp this was good and pressed a call button on the side of the bed.

“I… I really think you’ve been a jerk today with all the being shot and the drama and…” Simmons forgot was he was saying. “Your eyes look better. It’s nice.”

“Simmons, you’re out of it. Did you get hit or something? What the fuck?”

“Just in the shoulder. Maybe.”

“DOCTOR GREY!” Grif yelled, apparently giving up on the call button. “Shit. You bitch the most about every little thing and you were _shot_? And didn’t say anything?”

It was really loud and not okay after Simmons had been up all night Simmons shook his head. “S’okay. People get shoulder wounds all the time. You’re more important.” Simmons words were slurring, which was not doing a great job proving he was fine, but he was fine. Now that he knew Grif was okay, the dull throbbing in his shoulder was back, but it was far away.

“I’ll just lock down… like Donut. And then someone can…” Oh shit, the world was spinning like when he and Grif shared that case of beer.

“Simmons, you can’t lock down now, it’s been…” Grif was talking fast now, panicking. “What the fuck, why didn’t you tell anyone? You should have been screaming it from the rooftops to get a damn medal or something.”

“S’not bad,” Simmons protested, but Grif got a piece of his shoulder armor off and as soon as the air hit, Simmons could tell he was soaking in blood. Some dried, some fresh. A lot of it.

Simmons felt his artificial heart lurch. He’d been slowly bleeding the whole time. “Artery in the left shoulder,” Simmons murmured. “Forgot about that.”

“Simmons!”

Dr. Grey and her team burst into the room and laid Simmons out on the other bed as they pulled his armor off and ordered blood and Grey told them they needed to prep the surgery room again pronto, but the world was drifting away on him now. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Grif’s face. Grif was alive. Everything would be okay. It was just a shoulder wound…

His last thoughts before everything shuts down are that he really should have bugged someone for a medal. And that Grif looks like shit when he cries.


End file.
